The Silent Thaw

Chapter 1

Keep running! Rootpaw didn’t dare look over his shoulder.

“Wait! You have to help me! Please!” Bramblestar’s plaintive wail echoed through the trees.

“Leave me alone!” Heart lurching, Rootpaw pushed his paws harder against the frozen forest floor. Why was the ThunderClan leader chasing him? What was Bramblestar doing on SkyClan land? And why did he look so much like a ghost?

Rootpaw’s thoughts spiraled as his paws thrummed over the earth. Bramblestar can’t be a ghost. He’s not dead! He’d lost a life to fever. But he was a Clan leader; he had come back. He was alive. Then why had Rootpaw been able to see the forest through Bramblestar’s shimmering pelt? Why hadn’t he smelled ThunderClan scent? Why had his paws made no sound on the hard earth?

Something sinewy snagged Rootpaw’s leg. It jerked from under him and he rolled, snatching it free as he thumped onto his side. The shock of his fall jolted him from his panic. Lying still for a moment, Rootpaw let his breath steady before scrambling to his paws. Pain flashed through the paw the root had caught. He glanced back the way he’d run. Something moved in the distance. Bramblestar? He stiffened, his belly tightening, then relaxed as he realized it was just bracken trembling in the breeze. He lifted his snagged paw, moving it gingerly. The pain softened and faded and he put his weight on it, relieved to find that it was okay.

He looked again for Bramblestar. The forest was deserted. He shook out his pelt. Did I imagine it? He’d been so sure he’d seen the ghostly ThunderClan leader. His breath caught in his throat. Perhaps Bramblestar had died again. Rootpaw shivered. Perhaps the fever that had killed him once had returned and killed him again. But why would I see his ghost? Dread crawled Rootpaw’s belly. Am I like Tree? His father had always been able to see dead cats. Was it possible Rootpaw had inherited the skill?

Rootpaw shuddered. He didn’t want to be strange like Tree. It was bad enough being Tree’s son and having his Clanmates treat him like the kit of a five-legged squirrel. He just wanted to be like his denmates—a normal warrior, with normal warrior kin. He lifted his chin, irritated. He would go back to the clearing. If it had been the real Bramblestar, he might still be there. He could explain why he’d come. And if it turned out Rootpaw had imagined seeing the ThunderClan leader, he’d see that there was nothing to be scared of. The wind might have made the shadows shiver so they seemed like a tabby pelt.

Squaring his shoulders, Rootpaw marched back to the clearing. As he neared the tiny glade, he fluffed his fur against the cold, puffing out his chest as he padded down the slope and stopped in the middle. He looked around, pricking his ears, but saw no sign of Bramblestar, neither the warrior nor the ghost. There was no scent lingering in the air. Shadows rippled over the ground. Rootpaw shook his head. He had not seen Bramblestar’s ghost. He’d imagined the whole thing.

He glanced at the sky, realizing that the sun had lifted high above the trees. His heart quickened. He was late. Dewspring would be expecting him for training. Rootpaw broke into a run and hared between the trees, heading back to camp.

“I’m glad you decided to turn up.” Dewspring was waiting for him outside the fern entrance. He flicked his tail irritably as Rootpaw scrambled down the slope toward him.

“Sorry!” Rootpaw puffed.

“We’re supposed to be stalking prey.” Dewspring stared at him.

“We still can,” Rootpaw mewed apologetically.

Dewspring huffed. “A warrior arrives on time.”

“I got distracted.” Rootpaw glanced at his paws. It was a lame excuse, but how could he tell his mentor that he thought he’d seen a ghost of a cat who wasn’t even dead? Besides, he didn’t want Dewspring to think he was as strange as Tree.

Dewspring whisked his tail. “Don’t let it happen again,” he mewed. “You’ve still got a lot to learn. If you want to become a warrior before greenleaf, we don’t have time to waste.”

As Rootpaw dipped his head, the frost-browned ferns rustled and Hawkwing pushed his way out of camp. Plumwillow and Nettlesplash followed at his heels.

“Hi, Dewspring.” The SkyClan deputy paused beside the gray tom. He glanced at Rootpaw. “How’s your apprentice doing?”

“Not bad.” Dewspring eyed Rootpaw sharply. Rootpaw tensed. Was his mentor going to tell Hawkwing that he’d been late for training? “He’s a good hunter, and his battle skills are coming along well.”

Relief washed over Rootpaw’s pelt.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hawkwing nodded. “I’m taking a patrol to the ThunderClan border. The scent markers are a little stale toward the lake.”

“That’s a long trek,” Dewspring observed.

“Yes,” Hawkwing agreed. “But we need to make sure ShadowClan and ThunderClan respect that piece of territory. It’s our only access to the shore.”

As the warriors spoke, Rootpaw’s thoughts quickened. ThunderClan would know if Bramblestar was dead. A ThunderClan patrol might share the news. Then he’d know if there was a chance he’d really seen Bramblestar’s ghost. I have to help mark the border. He glanced at Dewspring. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the lakeshore,” he mewed. Dewspring blinked at him, surprised, as Rootpaw went on. “Perhaps we could join the patrol and you could show me where the scent markers go again. I’ve forgotten.”

Hawkwing pricked his ears. “Well, then, you’d better come along.” He glanced at Dewspring. “Unless you had other plans.”

Dewspring’s tail twitched. “We were going to practice stalking.” He gazed curiously at Rootpaw. “But we can do that tomorrow.”

“So we can go?” Rootpaw looked at his mentor eagerly.

“Sure.”

Rootpaw dropped his gaze, worried that Dewspring might see his relief and wonder about his real interest in the ThunderClan border.

His paws ached by the time they reached the strip of land between ShadowClan and ThunderClan that led down to the lake. Dewspring had used the trek to teach him more about the forest. He’d pointed out prey trails and signs that birds were beginning to build nests in time for newleaf. Rootpaw had tried hard to listen, but his thoughts had been on Bramblestar’s ghost. The farther away he traveled from the sunny glade where he thought he’d see the apparition, the more certain he felt that he’d seen something. Perhaps StarClan had sent him a vision of the ThunderClan leader. But why send it to him? They hadn’t shared with the Clans in moons. He felt sure that if they had a message, they’d share it with a medicine cat.

“Do you see that tree?” Dewspring’s mew jerked him from his thoughts. His mentor had paused to point his muzzle toward a spreading ash, pale between the oaks.

Rootpaw stopped and followed Dewspring’s gaze as Hawkwing, Nettlesplash, and Plumwillow continued along the narrow stretch of forest beside ThunderClan’s land. “I see it,” he mewed.

“Birds like to nest about halfway up.” He nodded toward the branches. “There are nooks between the branches, and the trunk will give a lot of shelter once the leaves appear. And there are plenty of bugs to feed their young.” Dewspring padded to the foot of the ash and pressed his forepaws against the trunk. “The bark is hard, but not too hard.” He curled his claws into the wood. “It’s easy to climb.”

Rootpaw nodded, fixing his gaze on his mentor while his ears strained to hear sounds from the ThunderClan territory beyond. Were any patrols near the border? He struggled to keep his attention on Dewspring, relieved when the gray tom turned and followed his Clanmates. Rootpaw hesitated, peering across the scent line. He tasted the air. Was a ThunderClan patrol near?

“Stop dawdling!” Dewspring had stopped and was staring at him. He whisked his tail impatiently. “I thought you wanted to see where the scent markers should go.”

Plumwillow was already leaving her scent on a patch of withered bracken while Nettlesplash rubbed his jaw along a jutting twig.

Dewspring nodded to a bramble spilling between two oaks. “Mark that tree,” he told Rootpaw.

Rootpaw hurried to the brambles and left his scent, then quickly padded farther along the border where he could get a better view onto ThunderClan’s land. There was no sign of a patrol. Frustration burned beneath his pelt. Perhaps ThunderClan was already sitting vigil for its leader.

He narrowed his eyes and peered deeper into the forest, willing a ThunderClan patrol to appear. Just one look would be enough to tell him if something was wrong. Please let him be alive. Rootpaw’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. Let the ghost be my imagination.

“Mark that patch, too.” Plumwillow flicked her tail toward some bracken crowding along the border.

Rootpaw glanced past it, deeper into ThunderClan’s forest. Was that a cat moving between the trees? He peered harder. It was! He glimpsed a pelt, and another, slipping through the undergrowth. A patrol! But it was heading away. Rootpaw’s pads tingled with urgency. He had to get their attention before they disappeared. He lifted his muzzle. “Which bush did you want me to mark?” His mew rang among the trees, and he knew it would carry far into ThunderClan territory.

“Hush!” Dewspring glared at him. “You’ll scare the prey.”

“But we’re not hunting,” he mewed even more loudly. He met his mentor’s gaze innocently. “I can’t scare borders away.”

Plumwillow grunted crossly. “You don’t have to tell every Clan around the lake what we’re doing!”

“Sorry.” Rootpaw dropped his mew to a whisper, his heart quickening as he saw the ThunderClan cats’ pelts turn and head toward the border. Bracken swished as they neared.

“Do you have to make so much noise?” Lionblaze slid from beneath a bramble and shook out his pelt. The ThunderClan warrior was frowning. “Even if you don’t mind frightening your own prey, you don’t have to scare ours.”

Rootpaw searched the ThunderClan tom’s gaze. Was there grief there? Or worry?

Sparkpelt and Cherryfall nosed their way out beside him and stared irritably across the border.

None of them seemed bothered by anything but Rootpaw’s yowl. Was their leader still alive? Hope welled in his chest.

Plumwillow glanced crossly at Rootpaw. “Rootpaw is a little overenthusiastic today.”

Dewspring brushed past Rootpaw. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d trained him to use his hunting voice no matter what patrol he was on.”

Amusement flashed in Sparkpelt’s eyes. “Apprentices don’t always listen.”

Rootpaw padded to the border and blinked at Lionblaze. “Sorry about being so loud,” he apologized. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’ve probably just gotten used to your new territory.” Lionblaze’s gaze softened sympathetically. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like to share borders on every side.”

“I guess.” Rootpaw held the golden warrior’s gaze. “Is Bramblestar better now?” He didn’t care if the question sounded odd. He needed to make sure that everything was okay in ThunderClan.

“Of course.” Lionblaze narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised. “He’s been better for days.”

Rootpaw felt dizzy with relief. Bramblestar was alive and well. Which meant he hadn’t seen a ghost. Everything was okay.

Dewspring hurried forward and nosed Rootpaw away from the border. “I’m sorry,” he told Lionblaze again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Rootpaw today.”

“That’s okay.” Lionblaze looked toward the lake. “The scent of newleaf always makes young cats crazy.”

Sparkpelt followed her Clanmate’s gaze. “The ice is breaking up at the shore,” she murmured.

Plumwillow swished her tail. “We could use a little warmth.”

“And more prey,” Nettlesplash added.

There was a glint in Sparkpelt’s green eyes as she told the SkyClan patrol, “Maybe the Moonpool’s finally thawing too!”

Lionblaze purred. “That would be a relief to us all.”

As the warriors gazed dreamily into the distance, clearly imagining the return of StarClan and an end to the bitter leaf-bare that had gripped the forest, Rootpaw shook out his pelt. He wasn’t like Tree after all. Whatever he’d seen in the forest, it hadn’t been a ghost. Perhaps he’d dreamed it. Perhaps his imagination had turned a shadow into what he’d thought was a ghost. And yet, if it had only been a shadow, whose voice had he heard?

“Come on.” Dewspring’s mew jolted him back into the moment. The ThunderClan patrol was heading away, and Plumwillow and Nettlesplash were marking the border where they’d stood. “We’ll finish marking here and head back to camp. This afternoon you can train with Needlepaw. Reedclaw wants her to practice battle moves with a cat her own size.”

Rootpaw followed his mentor as he padded toward the shore. Leaves crunched beneath his paws. The breeze felt fresh in his fur and he lifted his muzzle, enjoying the scents rolling in from the lake. It would be fun to train with Needlepaw. She could be annoying, because she was faster than him and liked to rub it in, but she was his sister, after all, and she might show him a new move. It would be better than worrying about ghosts.

Needlepaw rolled into the soft grass at the edge of the clearing, her pelt ruffled with tiredness. “Bring me back a mouse.”

“Okay.” Rootpaw left his sister and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. The evening patrol was setting out while the rest of his Clanmates were still returning after their day’s duties. Leafstar watched contentedly through half-closed eyes at one end of the clearing, Hawkwing at her side. Training had gone well, and Rootpaw was pleased that he’d managed to counter Needlepaw’s battle moves with unusual speed. She’d pushed him hard while Reedclaw and Dewspring had called advice from the edge of the training clearing, but he’d matched her blow for blow and ducked and feinted with such skill that Dewspring had let them finish training early so they could take first pick from the fresh-kill pile when they got back to camp.

Rootpaw pulled a mouse from the middle of the pile and chose a shrew for himself. Grabbing the tails between his jaws, he headed back toward Needlepaw. He stiffened as he saw the air shimmer beside her. Was that the outline of a cat? Please, don’t let it be the ghost! He could make out a tabby pelt and wide, round eyes. Rootpaw’s heart dropped like a stone as, silently, Bramblestar flickered into view. The fern wall behind the ThunderClan leader showed through his pale form. He was barely more than a shadow, and he was staring at Rootpaw, his eyes glittering with desperation. I must be imagining it. Rootpaw forced himself forward. He can’t be there. He dropped the prey beside Needlepaw, avoiding Bramblestar’s gaze. “Is this mouse big enough?” He stared at his sister as she looked up. Could she see Bramblestar’s ghost standing beside her?

She blinked at him, then looked at the mouse approvingly. “It looks perfect.” She shifted to make room beside her, and he sat down stiffly and pawed the shrew closer. She can’t see it. His chest tightened as he felt Bramblestar’s gaze burn his pelt. He glanced around the camp. Leafstar was chatting to Hawkwing. Plumwillow washed her face while Nettlesplash and Macgyver chose prey from the pile. No cat was looking at the transparent, scentless figure beside Rootpaw. No cat can see him. Panic flashed beneath his fur. Only me!